The Storm
by kurgaya
Summary: No pairings - The second Ichigo realised Toshiro was cold he knew that there was nothing he could do.


**Warnings**: Non-graphic violence. Implied torture. Implied character death.

* * *

**The Storm**

What if this storm ends  
And I don't see you  
As you are now  
Ever again?

- The Lightning Strike by Snow Patrol

* * *

The remains of his haori flapping against his battered body in the wind, Ichigo collapsed to his knees. He dragged himself under the shelter of the boulders stacked up in a irregular formation atop the dune, as if the white giant watching from above had thrown them neglectfully into the crumbling desert of Hueco Mundo that made up the entirety of his toy box. His lungs wouldn't expand enough to supply his withered body with the oxygen it desperately needed, and he had to fight back the clenching of his stomach to keep hold of the minimal food and water he had inside of him. His hands shook as he tried to pull his uniform back together, broken fingers and the raw, peeled skin of his wrists rubbing excruciatingly against the dreggy, torn fabric in his attempts at preserving heat. The line of his footsteps in the sand had already disappeared with the birth of the storm, and the frightened, weary taicho blinked through the haze in his eyes to scan his surroundings for any sign of his lost companion.

Tinier and more fragile than Ichigo had ever seen him, Toshiro stumbled into his sight, head bowed against the wind and eyes following a trail only present in his mind. Ichigo called to him with what little voice he had left, his throat inflamed from screaming and yelling during their confinement in Las Noches's dungeon. The other taicho followed his bellow through the howling of the tempest, one arm spluttering blood with every step and the other clinging to his side to hold his ribs together. Toshiro dropped to the ground in much the same fashion, except the way his shoulders sagged and his features smoothed out into an utter acceptance of his fate implied that he was losing against the desire to never move again.

"Hey," Ichigo breathed with a fleeting breath, reaching out with the strength of a man not yet ready to die. "Come on, you can't lie there, move closer."

A few lonely minutes dragged by before there was a response. Toshiro pulled himself towards the other man, grinding against the stone and sand with pained grunts and whimpers, and let himself fall lax against Ichigo's shoulder, the long purple bruises on his face hissing and biting like capricious snakes. Ichigo curled an arm around him protectively, but they both knew that without their spiritual energy or zanpakuto they were both extremely vulnerable in the heart of enemy territory. Aizen's men would find them soon enough; neither of them were capable of entering Soul Society by themselves, which meant that their only means of escape was for the shinigami to find them before they were once again lugged back to Las Noches bound and defeated.

"What are the chances they'll come for us?"

"Quite high. You're their wildcard - you're far too valuable to be lost now."

"They'll come for you too."

"...Only because you're here with me."

Ichigo closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the chilled stone, pulling his knees up in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. Toshiro didn't even shift at the movement, a silent trembling body pressed against Ichigo's own. His legs were bent at an awkward angle, the grey of his tabi seeped a deep red from when he had hauled his feet through the broadening pool of blood, but his torpidity suggested he didn't find the position uncomfortable. This concerned Ichigo, who brought his hand up to brush against the back of Toshiro's neck, careful to mind the burn that had blackened the roots of his tangled hair. He startled at the sheer frigidness of his friend's skin, cracked fingertips plunging themselves into the spot under Toshiro's chin to frantically check for a pulse. It was there, though it was weak, and it didn't calm the terrified pounding of his own heart.

"Toshiro?" he whispered, tapping the man. "You're so cold."

"I know," sighed the taicho, speaking for the first time in hours. His voice was dampened with the screams of his wounds, and he didn't even lift his head from Ichigo's shoulder to address him as he normally would; chin lifted and eyes defiant. "It's weird."

Ichigo gripped his friend tighter, desperate to try and share what little warmth he had. Toshiro was the wielder of the strongest ice type zanpakuto in history - not getting cold was part of the many features that came with such an achievement. "Don't you fall asleep on me," he ordered lightly, jogging Toshiro's head with his shoulder. "Renji and the others will be here soon. You can go home and have a nice warm bath."

"I'm cold," Toshiro muttered in reply, as if that much wasn't obvious enough already. He turned his face so that he was staring down at Ichigo's legs, but the paleness of his skin had infected his eyes, and his startling teal orbs were but a dull, faded green now, a dribble of blood dripping into his left eye, flooding it with scarlet. His lips were cracked with a dying thirst for water, and he licked them again as he spoke a final observation, "It's weird."

If Ichigo could have found the energy to sob, he would have. "We'll make it back, I promise you," he said, closing his eyes and titling his head down so that he could feel the soft brush of Toshiro's hair against his cheek. "I'll even carry you if I have to."

He'd have to. They both knew that.


End file.
